


Christmas Letters

by PrioritiesSorted



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Letters, M/M, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 19:29:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrioritiesSorted/pseuds/PrioritiesSorted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus receives a letter on Christmas Day that says more than he expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dear Moony

**Author's Note:**

> So this was a Christmas present for two of my friends - one got Sirius's letter, and the other Remus's. 
> 
> I thought I should post them so each can see the other half of the present. 
> 
> And so all you lovely shippers can see them too.

Dear Moony,

Hope your Christmas was fun. If not then console yourself that it was probably better than mine. My parents decided that ‘Dromeda finally eloping with the Muggle-born father of her child (Merlin, it sounds like we’re in the eighteenth century – mind you, The Blacks essentially are) was worrying enough for them to start lecturing me on appropriate prospective partners. They were gracious enough to concede that this hypothetical ‘she’ may be a Gryffindor, as long as she comes from a family of good blood status.

And the thing is, ~~Moony~~ ~~Remus~~ Moony, I really don’t want to marry a girl of good blood-status, whether she’s in Gryffindor or not. I don’t want to marry a girl at all. I don’t think I’ll ever want to marry a girl, if you catch my drift. I’m not saying I don’t ever want to get married, I mean I don’t want to get married to a girl. Girls are… well that’s the thing; I have no idea how to even get my head around girls. They’re so alien. But blokes… well you probably don’t really want the details there.

Just so you know, if anyone else were to ask me why I don’t want to marry a girl, I will fervently respond, ‘Because no one woman could ever handle me, baby.’ I wanted to tell you, though, because I think you’d understand about having a part of yourself that makes you disgusting in the eyes of people who would otherwise like and respect you.

No. That was a lie, I’m sorry.

Well, it’s not a lie, but it isn’t the whole truth.

Look at me, Moony; I’m a coward. It feels strange and I don’t like it. So I’ll face the music (and no matter the stereotypes, this absolutely DOES NOT mean that I now listen to Celestina Warbeck) and just come out with it.

~~Moony~~ Remus, I think I might be just a little in love with you. Only a little, mind. I ~~might~~ will probably get over it. But I wanted you to know, because I’ve seen how you look at the couples in the Common Room, and how capable of love you are. I also know that you think no-one could ever love someone like you, and I wanted to tell you how wrong you are, (not just because you rarely are, and I’m enjoying being right) because knowing what you’ve gone through and how it’s only made you kinder just makes you even more wonderful.

I’m going to stop now, because I’m well aware that I probably look like an idiot, and I am, but I needed you to know. Sorry I had to owl you, but I don’t think I could have said all of this in front of you. I don’t think you know you do it, but your emotions are written all over your face and it is horribly distracting. I won’t insult you by saying it’s all right if you don’t want to talk to me after this, because I know you will, but if you don’t want to talk about it, it can go unmentioned for the rest of eternity.

Anyway, I’ll see you in January; no more surprise declarations, I swear (solemnly).

Yours,

Sirius


	2. Dear Sirius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius receives the reply he'd never hoped for.

Dear Sirius,

I don’t know if you were expecting a reply, but here one is regardless. I do hope you read this and don’t just leave it on your dresser pretending you’re going to open it later like you did with the letter your Father sent you after Sorting. Then again, I think we’ve grown up just a little from first year, wouldn’t you agree?

I feel I should point out that were this not an issue of considerable seriousness (no pun intended) and emotion, then I would currently be mercilessly teasing you about dealing with it by owl. Though don’t think you’re in the clear, I probably will at some point.

But not now; now there are more important things to be said (in list form because you know how I like lists):

  1. I also do not listen to Celestina Warbeck, in the same way that I don’t live underground and prey on hapless children every full moon. Stereotypes are evidently no fun at all.
  2.  You _are_ fun. Even when writing a heartfelt admission of possible love, you still make me laugh.
  3. Of course you look like an idiot, but what’s changed there?
  4. It’s one of the reasons I might be just a little in love with you.
  5. There are lots of those.



I’d wager you weren’t expecting that. Evidently I am more difficult to read than you think I am (and I’ll have you know that Lily believes me to be a mystery wrapped in a riddle and surrounded by an enigma). Though in all honesty, you are probably right about not being able to say all you said to me in person, though I think because I would have become impatient with your inane babbling (because you do babble inanely when you’re nervous, even on paper) and just kissed you.

If we’re being honest, I’d like to kiss you now, but since you’re cooped up in Grimmauld Place and I’m cooped up in Dorset, I don’t think that will be possible until we’re back at school. Though not until I’ve thwacked you around the head with a large book to indicate my displeasure at your dealing with this by owl and thus not being here for me to kiss at this very moment.

I’m not even sure why I want to kiss you at all, what with your being such an idiot. Your tendency to assume that every person who so much as glances in your direction is madly in love with you clearly doesn’t stretch to noticing that one of your best friends has been more than a little in love with you for longer than he would care to admit. Incidentally, after the initial shock of your letter had worn off, said friend may or may not have had such an enormous smile plastered to his face for the rest of the day that his parents worried for the state of his mental health.

Speaking of best friends, if you haven’t told them then you should know that James and Peter know. Apparently they are more observant than we give them credit for. Or we were less subtle. Or a mixture of the two. In any case, they cornered me at the end of term and told me that if I didn’t grow a pair and snog the living daylights out of you before Valentine’s Day, they would get so sick of you looking after me like a kicked puppy that something hideous, pink, and sticky would descend upon us. So I suppose it’s a burden we will have to bear.

See you in January,

Love,

Remus. 


End file.
